Winter Triad
by Sunhawk
Summary: Three snapshots of winter, as experienced by Peregrin Took.
1. Bag End, Before the War

A/N: This tale contains some slash, though not explicit. I do not own the characters, and I make no profit from this story. Feedback is welcomed with open arms.  
  
Winter Triad: Bag End, before the War  
  
Pippin loves these winter mornings at Bag End. All snuggled in bed with Merry, both of them buried under a pile of quilts. For years, since Pippin could ride that far, they've gone back with Frodo and Sam after Yule, partially to keep them company, and partially to escape their families, and the boredom that comes with being shut inside and seeing the same people day after day after day. It's different with just the four of them, and anyway, it's only for a few weeks. Then Merry goes back to Buckland, and Pippin might go with him, or go back to Tuckborough, depending on how many hints his mother drops about forgetting what he looks like.  
But now they're still at Bag End, and that's all Pippin cares about. That, and that he and Merry are here, together, and no one cares. Even now, at the grand old age of 26, he marvels at how easily they slipped from friends to lovers. Nothing was lost, he muses, it just got to be more.  
Like the fire. Always it's been, whoever woke first would build up the fire before scurrying back into bed. It used to be Pippin, mostly, when he was in his teens and would wake up what felt like hours before his companion. Now, lately, it's been Merry who wakes up earlier, and Pippin opens his eyes sleepily to a warm fire, and a chilly hobbit coming back to lie under the covers and purposely stick his cold feet on Pippin's legs, necessitating the beginning of a tickle fight. Pippin is quite happy with those fights, as they often end in something more fun, but usually not as giggly.  
This morning, Pippin's awake first, and he slips out of bed to build up the fire. Running back under the covers kept warm by Merry, he is drawn into a hug, with a partially-awake hobbit murmuring love in his ear. Later, they'll emerge from the bed, and go eat a feast of a breakfast that Sam's prepared. Merry and Frodo might take turns reading some of Bilbo's old stories aloud, then, or if it's not too cold, they might go outside.  
Some years it snows, and they pelt each other, and get soaking wet, and then go in for hot tea and sweet cakes. Pippin especially likes that. Particularly when they can get Sam to join in-not hard in the middle of barren winter-because he and Sam work amazingly well together against Merry and Frodo.  
Pippin particularly loves when he and Merry shed their wet clothes for a hot bath. He likes scrubbing Merry down, making his skin glow. He really likes it when Merry turns him 'round gently, and washes his back, then rubs his shoulders and back, working out all the kinks. Pippin melts back into his lover's arms, then, and they lie together like that for a little bit.  
Sometimes Merry and Frodo closet themselves up with old books. That bores Pippin, so he wanders around, exploring long unopened rooms in Bag End. If Sam's around, he'll help cook, or just sit and talk. Sam tells him about gardening, and Pippin talks about farming. They speak the same language, he thinks, the language of growing things, of cycles neverending, the language of earth and cultivation. As much as he enjoys Sam's company, Pippin is happiest when Frodo and Merry emerge for lunch, or tea, or supper, and Merry sits beside him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. It's not much, but it's another one of those things that's carried over, crossed the line between friend and lover, and Pippin adores it.  
At night, they'll all be together again. Sometimes Sam goes home to be with his family, but sometimes he stays and smokes a pipe with the cousins. Evening is when they tell hobbity stories, warm stories to drive away the dark, and make each other laugh. Merry and Frodo will have riddling contests, and sometimes Pippin joins in, but usually he sits and lets the words wash over him and watches firelight dancing on Merry's skin.  
  
He's usually not very sleepy at night, not until he and Merry have had some time to themselves. Merry might whisper some poetry to him, but usually they talk, about everything and nothing. So relaxed they are, with each other, they can nearly have a conversation without speaking. They make love, a lot. By firelight or candlelight in the velvet of a winter evening, or sometimes Merry will leave Frodo to his books for an afternoon, and he and Pippin will go to their room, and emerge later, flushed and happy and in love. Frodo smiles when he sees them like that, with only the tiniest bit of sadness. Pippin used to run up to him at those times, and throw his arms around Frodo, trying to tell his cousin that he was loved and cherished too, if not exactly in the same way. Now he smiles back, and lets that tell his tale. Merry worries about Frodo, sometimes, but Pippin thinks he'll find someone, given the time. Merry says he's still not sure, but shrugs and notes that Frodo is happy enough, and so he doesn't worry overmuch. Then Merry hugs Pippin, and shows him, and tells him, just how happy he is.  
Winter, for Pippin, is warm fires, and cousins, and the peace of Bag End. Winter is rare snowball fights, and chasing away the cold and dark with tales and riddles. Winter, lately, has been loving kissed with fire and soft, down-filled blankets. Winter will always be a quiet kind of love, to Pippin. 


	2. Bag End, After the War

A/N: Wow! I'm quite blown away by the lovely reviews, particularly as they're from authors I've long admired and enjoyed. My apologies for not uploading these all at once; FF.N was being a pain last night and I didn't feel like dealing with it. (Shameless plug: All these stories are un-beta'd, as I haven't found a beta-reader yet. Interested, and don't mind reading stuff ranging from G to NC-17?)  
  
Winter Triad: Bag End, after the War  
  
Pippin still loves these winters at Bag End. Even after everything, he and Merry still go back to Bag End with Frodo and Sam. Of course, now it's Frodo and Sam and Rosie, with a little one on the way. Pippin is happy with the additions-Rosie is warm, and kind, and Sam loves her so. Pippin wishes, a little bit, that he and Merry could have had a great wedding under the mallorn tree, with everyone they loved gathered 'round. But not very often; he is happy, where he is. His father, though growing older, is still the serene, hearty hobbit Pippin left behind, and the burdens of the Thainship are many years away-he still has not even come of age!  
Pippin feels older than his years, though. His 29 years aren't, it seems. He came of age on the battlefield, when he faced death, when he became a warrior. Pippin is ready, now, to settle down and farm and be part of the earth again. He's still a child in the eyes of the Shire, though, and sometimes this chafes him.  
Not at Bag End. It's still the same, although Merry almost always builds the fire, now. The cold and damp make Pippin's just-healed injuries ache in the early morning-Strider said it would probably always be like that. Pippin is usually not too miserable, and when Merry gets out of bed to light the fire, and then comes back to hold him, and kiss him gently, Pippin feels like all the pain drains from his body.  
It's good to know they can still help each other. Even now, months later, Pippin is woken up by Merry's nightmares, and he sometimes wakes Merry with his. It helps to have someone there, but they can't ever fully soothe one another. Pippin has had a lot of sleepless nights, this winter, rocking Merry gently and trying to soothe away a pain so great tears can't even come, or burying his face in Merry's shoulder, listening to whispers that only begin to chase away the dark.  
It's not so bad, he always reminds himself. At least they're still all together, and the Shire is coming back to life, and he only misses Boromir after he's dreamt of the Man.  
On very bad mornings, when Pip hurts too much to get out of bed, Merry brings a tray with breakfast that Rosie and Sam have made, and they eat together, and Merry makes him drink a sweet tea that makes him sleepy, and he doesn't notice the pain anymore. Merry always lives up to his name at these times, Pippin notices, making him laugh and teasing him and chasing the pain away better than any herbal medicines could.  
Later in the morning, when it's warmer, if they haven't already dressed and gone out to greet the rest of the household, they do. Frodo is usually in his study by himself these days, writing, so Merry will stay and talk with Sam and Pippin, or go compare herb knowledge with Rosie. When she begins to grow big, Merry fusses over her almost as much as Sam does. Pippin sometimes wishes that he and Merry could have children of their own, watching the Brandybuck take care of Rosie. He knows Merry would be wonderful with children-but such is the path set out for them. Sam has already taken him aside and informed him that he and Merry are to consider themselves beloved uncles to all of his and Rosie's children. Pippin has already interpreted this to mean permission to spoil all the children thoroughly, and attempt to get them into as much mischief as possible. At night, he and Merry sometimes look over maps, already planning short camping trips, and Pippin cannot wait until the little one comes.  
Sometimes they can drag Frodo away from his book, his endless writing. Pippin has always associated the smell of ink and paper with his cousin, but now Frodo without a pen in his hand seems almost impossible. For the rest of his life, Pippin will never sit down to write, or watch Merry working on his books, without thinking of the Ringbearer. When Frodo comes out, it is almost like the old days again, teasing each other, and once, after a snow, getting into the last snowball fight with all of them there, Rosie laughing at the surprised look on her husband's face after she's lobbed a snowball at him. Frodo laughs and teases all of them, and having only four fingers on one hand does nothing to affect his aim.  
Pippin has begun hugging Frodo again, when he sees that catch of sadness in his cousin's eyes.  
Their days go on as they always have, although they talk about the times before the War more often, now, remembering the Shire when they were all young. Sometimes Pippin can wheedle Frodo into telling a story about Merry from before Pippin was born, or at least when he was too young to remember. Rosie is easy; she always has tales of Sam, and it is Frodo who usually teases them out of her.  
Merry and Pippin still have their time together, at the end of the night. Time and place don't matter, then, only that they are together and warm and well-fed. Pippin loves these nights together more than anytime else, when he's no longer limping with pain, and Merry is happy and peaceful, and they're together and they love each other. Pippin wonders, sometimes, if on these nights their bodies glow, with heat and passion and knowledge of war and peace; sorrow and joy.  
Winter, for Pippin, is still warm fires, and cousins, and the peace of Bag End. It is also memories of Caradharas, and Moria, and sorrow more tearing than he'd ever known before. It's still Merry and firelight and quilts, but it's also noticing Frodo getting just the littlest bit quieter, and more unearthly, every day. Some things cannot be changed, though; winter will always be a quiet kind of love, to Pippin. 


	3. Gondor

Winter Triad: Gondor  
  
Bag End means winter only in Thain Peregrin I's memory now. Although he and Meriadoc the Magnificent would often visit the Mayor, affairs of their offices kept them from spending weeks at a time at Bag End. Frodo went over the Sea so many years ago, and now Sam has joined him. Rosie lies in the earth of the Shire, the only one of them that will be buried in the land that raised them.  
Now Pippin gazes out at the White City, this land of Men that he and Merry have come to. He know somewhere, deep inside, that they will never see the Shire again in life. Although he and Merry do not speak of it, when they left to be with Eomer at his last days, they left for good. Here, though, with Strider and Arwen and Beregond's great-grandchildren about him, Pippin is content. Though he now only watches the younglings play, it snows here too. And his Merry is here, still keeping the blankets warm, and still lighting the fire when Pippin sleeps in, or is too stiff to do so himself.  
They rise together to eat with the King. The servants are a little awed, with the Ernil I Pheriannath and the one who helped to slay the Witch- King, kin of Frodo of the Nine Fingers treated as family to the Elfstone. Merry and Pippin soon charm them into an easy alliance, resulting in a full six meals a day, which amuses Strider to no end. Mornings are slow, here in Gondor, especially in winter. Often, now, the King may join them for a pipe, and hours spent remembering days now long past. The Evenstar joins them, too, still beautiful and young and perfect, and plays and sings for them.  
Late at night, once, when they were drifting off, Merry whispered to Pippin that he thought Arwen very beautiful, but too untouchable. Hands ghosting over white curls, Merry murmured that he loved beauty only when it was near, and could be touched and held. And they went into each other's arms, then, and though it may not have been as quick or acrobatic as when they were young, they loved each other with a lifetime lived together, and that was more than enough.  
Merry is still finishing his last book, on herblore. Every time Legolas comes to visit, now, he brings a volume from Imladris, and Pippin feels a little shoved to the side for a few days, as Merry devours the knowledge, and adds it to his book. Legolas and Gimli, though, are a wonderful distraction, and Merry and Pippin still have their time together at night, so Pippin is content. He begins to feel the press of years, but with them comes peace, and a readiness for whatever may be next, boosted up by a life well-lived, and loving arms wrapped around him each night.  
Gondorian winters are colder than Bag End, and Pippin feels a little lost among all the Big People. Still, they have a great, soft bed to themselves, and a huge fireplace, and the leisure to take full advantage of both of them. It is rare, though, that they will spend an entire day in their room, Merry reading aloud, or just talking-even after a lifetime, they still have much to say to each other, and Pippin marvels at it. They love Strider, and Arwen, and their family and, oddly at first, they love this land. A topic of much discussion, this connection to Gondor; but it still holds. Though it doesn't cradle him, love him, as the Shire does, Pippin feels like a part of Gondor was mixed in with him, and now he truly serves Her, in these his last years.  
Winter is big fires, and lots of food. Winter is dozing with Merry, or listening to him read, words not mattering, just the rise and fall of his voice. Winter is remembering friends long gone, and treasuring a love that has been tempered and tuned, made sweet and strong and so beautiful Pippin wonders how they both survive each day. Winter, for Pippin, is still a quiet, snow-falling, fire-crackling, kind of love 


End file.
